Although she said this, her gaze didn’t linger much on her son, only resting on her husband.

Father Shen merely nodded. “Oh, alright. You stay here and talk to him more. I still have a few people to meet at the municipal office, so I’ll head over now.”

Mother Shen quickly asked, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. Where are you staying tonight? At the old house?”

Father Shen answered, “I don’t know. It depends on how the municipal office arranges it.”

Shen Qiming, however, paid no attention to their conversation. He returned to his desk, took off his coat from the coat rack, and started walking out. Father Shen finally asked, “Where are you going?”

Shen Qiming replied, “I have something to do.”

Father Shen didn’t press further.

He just acknowledged him with a polite “Oh.”

Meanwhile, Mother Shen noticed her son and spoke up, “Qiming, wait a minute. I heard from someone in the company that you and Yaotiao have called off the engagement?”

Shen Qiming stopped in his tracks and looked at his mother. “Who told you?”

Father Shen was also stunned, clearly just learning of the news. “Called off the engagement? You and Yaotiao called it off?” Then, he furrowed his brow. “This is unreasonable. Such a big thing and you didn’t even discuss it with the family?”

Shen Qiming ignored him, but Father Shen wasn’t interested in hearing his son’s explanation.

He instructed his wife, “You go have a meal with Old Jin and them, and finalize the wedding date. What’s all this nonsense about canceling an engagement? Ridiculous.”

He clearly liked his daughter-in-law, Jin Yaotiao.

Shen Qiming, knowing his father’s usual ways, finally frowned. “Don’t go bothering Yaotiao. What does it have to do with you?”

Mother Shen looked at her son, then at her husband, a slight frown on her face. “You really called it off? Why? People in the company are saying it was Yaotiao’s decision. What did you do? Did she find out about another woman?”

Shen Qiming’s eyes shot daggers at his mother when she mentioned another woman.

“Don’t think I’m like him.”

The “him” was, of course, referring to someone she didn’t need to name.

Mother Shen’s expression changed, and she turned her head away, too afraid to meet her son’s gaze.

Father Shen, hearing his son’s words, didn’t get angry.

Instead, he said, “It’s not like that. Men have some fun outside; it’s nothing that should cause an engagement to be broken off.”

Mother Shen’s expression turned bitter.

Shen Qiming couldn’t be bothered to deal with them.

He put on his coat and left the office. Before he left, he instructed a few assistants outside the office, “Take them to the guest room.”

Once he left, the assistants stiffly moved forward to escort the two elders, but Father Shen, remembering his meeting, quickly made a call to his assistant and hurried off, leaving Mother Shen behind.

She stood looking at the direction in which father and son had disappeared, her expression full of complexity.

The assistants, seeing the way the family interacted, couldn’t help but grimace inwardly, thinking, “Goodness…”

---

In the southern part of the city, at a nursing home, the atmosphere was lively.

Various machines were set up to record, and the focus of attention was the large dining table, covered with flour and dough.

The elderly, some weaker and sitting in wheelchairs, others standing by the table helping, made for an unusually lively scene, with laughter and joy filling the air.

This was Mingde’s old tradition. Every year on the Winter Solstice, they participated in some kind of social welfare activity.

When Mr. Jin, Jin Yaotiao’s father, was still healthy, he would even lead people to the mountains or the countryside to bring warmth to remote areas.

This year, however, Mingde’s business had grown, and the company was too busy to travel that far, so they decided to do it within the city.

The nursing home had been in the area for many years, located near a busy old street by the river, where many tourists and locals would stroll.

The nursing home itself, however, was quiet.

Many elderly people here didn’t have the energy to wander outside, and some, whose children rarely visited, seemed to have lost all vitality.

Even on the Winter Solstice, a time for family reunions, many elderly people could only wait in loneliness for children who wouldn’t come.

The arrival of Mingde’s team brought some much-needed liveliness.

Jin Yaotiao smiled as she instructed her staff to take the dumplings and tangyuan to the kitchen to cook.

She could now understand why Mingde kept this tradition; doing good deeds truly made people feel good.

While Jin’s mother was talking to her husband via video call from Shenzhen, the family might not be physically together, but they were united in spirit, sharing the warmth of the reunion.

The cold wind blew in through the open door, sending the aroma of food floating out.

Inside, people seemed to forget the cold and stopped chatting, turning their attention toward the direction the smell was coming from.

Relatives visiting the elderly and several media outlets present all poked their heads out and commented, “It smells so good!”

Soon, some Mingde staff brought out the boiled dumplings and tangyuan, their steam rising, and the aroma becoming more intense. Jin Yaotiao stepped forward to help distribute the food.

According to tradition, the people of Linjiang ate tangyuan on Winter Solstice, but many of the elderly here were from other places and had different customs, preferring dumplings.

To accommodate them, Jin Yaotiao had made both.

She personally prepared the filling, and the local elderly helped roll the dough.

Their skilled hands produced thin, delicate skins that encased the filling, and after being boiled, the dumplings looked round and cute.

The dumplings had a three-flavor filling.

Jin Yaotiao was never careless with her work, always selecting the best ingredients, even for charity.

The mixture of lean and fatty pork, tender winter bamboo shoots, and freshly caught fish and shrimp, along with pig skin jelly, made for an exquisite filling.

After cooking, each bite released a rich, savory broth.

The elderly, whose appetites had decreased with age, found their appetites revived as they tasted the hot, flavorful soup in the winter cold.

The dipping sauce was also perfectly balanced—salty and tangy with a hint of spice from Mingde’s homemade chili oil.

Many of the elderly from out of town felt a deep nostalgia as they ate, realizing they could enjoy the taste of home here in Linjiang, thousands of miles away.

The tangyuan was also well-made, with smooth and chewy rice flour skins filled with a fragrant black sesame filling that Jin Yaotiao had specially prepared.

The filling was rich and flavorful, with a subtle buttery taste, much better than the ready-made fillings available outside.

The elderly, who had initially claimed they weren’t hungry, couldn’t stop eating once they started.

However, concerned about their age, Jin Yaotiao controlled the portion sizes and, for the leftover food, decided to give it away to passersby outside the nursing home.

It was freezing outside, and the people on the street were initially puzzled when they heard that the nursing home was offering food.

But once they smelled the aroma, they eagerly accepted and began eating right on the street.

Jia Bingyang, who had fallen out with the chief director Lin Miao over material selection for the documentary project, walked down the cold street with his trusted followers, feeling a chill in his heart.

Naturally, there were those who stood by his side, walking with him and worrying about him: “Director Jia, Lin is the nephew of Director Lin, and you’ve had a falling out with him. He’s sure to make things difficult for you in the future.”

Jia Bingyang exhaled, feeling the cold air fill his chest, and thought the future looked bleak: “What can I do? I’ve fought for so long at the station, and finally got this project established. Now he’s parachuted in and doesn’t even agree with my ideas. All my hard work… it hurts.”

One of his supporters sighed: “Actually, if you look on the bright side, the footage he shot for the material is really good. Maybe the final product won’t be that bad.”

Jia Bingyang shook his head: “It’s not enough that the footage is pretty.”

His supporter asked, “But it’s a food documentary, isn’t it all about food? I don’t quite understand why you’re so opposed to Lin’s selection of material. What exactly do you want to shoot?”

Jia Bingyang stood still, dazed.

He didn’t even know himself.

He just felt that the things Lin Miao chose weren’t right, no matter how beautiful or refined they looked. But what did he actually want to film?

Suddenly, the crowd around them grew noisy.

Jia Bingyang, already troubled, intended to avoid the commotion.

However, the crowd surged, pushing him deeper into the scene.

He snapped out of his daze, and before he could get angry, something was suddenly pressed into his hand—a paper bowl.

He heard faint scolding from behind, accusing him of cutting in line.

Jia Bingyang was taken aback, feeling wronged, but then a voice ahead of him called out: “Happy Winter Solstice!”

Jia Bingyang paused.

Today, was it really Winter Solstice?

The person ahead asked him: “These are the products we made today for a charity event at the nursing home, free for distribution. Would you like some? Which one would you like?”

Holding the bowl, Jia Bingyang looked up and saw two large stainless steel tubs in front of him, emitting steam and a delicious fragrance.

Dumplings and tangyuan (sweet rice dumplings)?

Jia Bingyang immediately recognized them and was somewhat moved. He hadn’t expected to encounter such warmth in this distant place.

However, after all these years of eating fine foods, dumplings and tangyuan were nothing special to him.

He wasn’t particularly hungry, but since the person was offering kindness, he didn’t want to refuse. He picked one casually: “Dumplings, please. Thank you, and Happy Winter Solstice.”

His polite response left a good impression on the staff at the entrance.

After scooping the dumplings into his bowl, one of them kindly added: “There’s chili oil on the side, made by our company’s leadership. You can try some.”

Jia Bingyang thanked the staff and, without thinking much, tried the chili oil.

The staff gave him a look as if saying “You’re lucky.”

He was momentarily stunned, then chuckled, not paying it much mind.

After squeezing out of the crowd, he sighed.

It was really cold.

The winter in Linjiang was not any easier to endure than in Beijing.

His heart, however, felt even colder than the frigid air.

He looked down at the dumplings, which were plump and appealing.

The shiny chili oil and the light sauce on top made them look even more appetizing.

He bitterly smiled, took a bite, and instantly froze.

Tender bamboo shoots mixed with minced meat—it wasn’t just pork inside, there was so much more.

The rich, hot juices flooded his taste buds, thick and scalding, enveloping his senses in a burst of freshness.

The chili oil was even more aromatic, with a mysterious blend of flavors that made the dumplings shine. He had never eaten such delicious dumplings in his hometown.

On this cold winter’s day, standing on a foreign street, this bowl of dumplings warmed his heart like a roaring bonfire.

Jia Bingyang turned around and gazed at the lively crowd behind him.

The noise entered his ears, and as far as he could see, everyone was laughing over the delicious food for the Winter Solstice.

Even the minor squabbles in the line seemed to carry the joy of the season.

It suddenly hit him—he had never understood why he instinctively resisted Lin Miao’s material selection.

This land, this country, had its own unique flavor of life.

It was a charm that rivaled the finest delicacies of any country.

---

On a commercial street, Shen Qiming got out of the car, late to arrive. The crowd had already dispersed, but the laughter from the nursing home, just a wall away, still drifted out.

Jin Yaotiao was advising an elderly person who still wanted more tangyuan: “No, you’ve had enough. The glutinous rice is hard to digest. If you eat more, your stomach will be upset.”

After seeing his parents, his heart remained calm. But hearing this voice filled with helplessness, he couldn’t help but smile slightly.

Someone suddenly spoke to him: “Sir, the food has already been handed out, I’m sorry.”

Shen Qiming came to his senses, looking down at the person, confused. What food had been handed out?

The person stared at him for a moment, then awkwardly glanced at the pot, quickly changing the subject: “If you really want some, I could make a few more for you inside? There are only broken tangyuan left.”

Shen Qiming looked at the pot the person pointed to and shook his head: “No need to trouble yourself.”

The person seemed to misunderstand, surprised: “Is it really okay? Are you sure the broken ones are fine?”

Shen Qiming was still puzzled when the person eagerly scooped up the broken tangyuan from the pot and handed them to him: “If you don’t mind, then please try some. Happy Winter Solstice.”

Winter Solstice…

Shen Qiming was momentarily dazed, then looked up at the sky. Was today really the Winter Solstice?

Earlier, when he was with his parents, none of them had realized it.

The paper bowl in his hand was still warm. He looked at the few broken tangyuan inside, then absent-mindedly scooped one up.

The soup carried the faint aroma of the filling, slightly sweet, and the broken tangyuan, though missing their filling, still had the chewy, soft texture of glutinous rice and slid gently into his mouth.

The tangyuan were still hot.

The cold winter wind was blowing on the street.

Shen Qiming tucked one hand into his coat pocket and held the bowl with the other. The staff member who had given him the bowl stood nervously, waiting for his reaction.

Shen Qiming, unusually, smiled at the stranger.

From inside the wall, Jin Yaotiao’s voice could be heard talking to another elderly person: “You can’t eat spicy food, your stomach isn’t good.”

The elderly person, either acting cute or begging, responded: “Happy Winter Solstice, Happy Winter Solstice.”

Jin Yaotiao still firmly said no, but her tone was light: “Happy Winter Solstice to you too, may you live a long life.”

He stood outside, holding the warm bowl, listening to this voice in silence. He turned to the nervous stranger and, in an unpracticed tone, softly replied:

“Happy Winter Solstice.”